


Beauty, or lack thereof

by copycatgirl



Category: Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copycatgirl/pseuds/copycatgirl





	Beauty, or lack thereof

It was about a great number of things, but image was not one of them. Afterwards, people would think it was and would say, ah, what a shame, who would have thought it; he was fairly handsome. But image was not it. Such a worry may well have gripped the vain Dorian Gray, had he not made his deal, or the self-appreciating Henry Wotton, but it had never touched Basil Hallward. He hadn’t the time nor energy for vanity.

No, it was never about that. It was about youth (Dorian’s), beauty, or lack thereof (the world’s), about art and who decides what is worthy of that word. It was a decision to die. It had come to Basil horribly suddenly what his role was in Dorian’s hedonistic life. He found himself sitting on Dorian’s bedroom floor, drink in hand, whilst younger, more intoxicated girls and boys cavorted on the bed of Basil’s obsession. And Basil had finally seen himself for what he had let himself become: a possession, displayed among Dorian’s extensive material wealth, trussed up in white and black and yellow; a puppet, strings on Dorian’s enchanting fingers; a toy, to be wound up and played with until he became old and boring and would be cast aside onto the rubbish pile. It was about power.

Even before Dorian, there had been Harry. Dear Harry. For Basil, Oxford was a dizzying memory of Harry and books and Harry and alcohol and Harry. That control Wotton had held over him: Basil had been devoted, until the rose tinted windows had shattered and he’d really see what it was he’d been worshipping. Art had ceased to be the worship of a singular man, and became right again.

He’d been so afraid when he had first lain eyes on Dorian Gray. But surely, this was different. Dorian was worthy of worship. He was gentle, meek; a little shy but charming and delightful. Harry had always been callous and cruel. When Basil had first met Harry, he had introduced himself by way of announcing his name grandly (emphasising the ‘Lord’ and behaving as though Basil should who in God’s name this impertinent stranger was) and tipping cigarette ash onto Basil’s new jacket. No, this time it was different. Dorian deserved Basil’s adoration.

But in the end, Dorian had been just the same as Harry- indeed, much worse. And this time, there was no escape. Basil was a rat in a trap, and all he could do was lie in wait until Dorian devoured his very self, his existence, his soul. But Basil was not willing to wait for his friend- if he could even call Dorian that any more- to kill his passion. Basil determined that he would sooner die at his own hand, rather starve himself to death, than wait years for Dorian to choose his method of execution.


End file.
